


dripping like a saturated sunrise (spilling like an overflowing sink)

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: ... a real live wall of sex toys, Alpha Louis, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Bottom Harry, Dildos, Knotting, Knotting Dildos, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Objectification, Omega Harry Styles, References to Knotting, So Many Sex Toys, This barely started fic was a mess from the start my b, Unwanted Sexual Advances, actually nah it’s stage harry lmfao all the way, brief mentions of Liam rimming h, enjoy prissy h pleasuring himself a lot and crying over wanting an alpha BC that’s all this is, harry has a problem with his glands and produces way too much slick!!!, harry is a big fan of ‘loving urself’, hes had a sexual awakening, i don’t want to put this but sl-tty harry is something I was thinking as I wrote this, ooc for harry, slick is a large part of this fic sorry, sorry for all of it really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 16:04:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12391485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: This is shameless 4K of omega Harry being ‘too’ wet and in heat and using his extensive collection of sex toys literally that’s it. This will never be finished





	dripping like a saturated sunrise (spilling like an overflowing sink)

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be for a tumblr friend but it was just slightly too ooc that I couldn’t bring myself to write further

Harry really wanted an ice cream cone.

This was his favorite shop for sweet treats, as there was always something to tickle his fancy, whether it be a biscuit, a slice of cake, a scone, or even candy-- the Sweet Disposition had an abundance of whatever he might be craving. 

And what he wanted right the fuck now was a tall, double scoop of honeycomb ice cream. This was the only shop within 50 kilometers that carried it, so here he was. Harry cleared his throat and checked his watch, gently fanning himself with a little pamphlet menu as he watched the line with a faint pout. An alpha eased past, eyes raking Harry’s form appreciatively as he gave a discreet sniff. Harry smiled sweetly and waved him on, rolling his eyes. Wanker.

Okay, yeah. He was currently very much flushed with pre-heat: his hormones were kicked into overdrive, he was sweaty, he was pink-cheeked and bright-eyed, and he could feel himself dripping slick onto his already over-absorbed pad. That didn't mean alphas got the go ahead to eye fuck him without so much as a hello. Harry just wanted some fucking ice cream, damn it. His craving for it was so severe he'd contemplated, very, very briefly, just walking up, hopping the counter, and scooping up a handful from the tub. That was bad, though, very naughty. He still had control over himself, wouldn't kick into full heat for at least another hour.

So. Harry waited, chewing at his knuckles with sharpened teeth, feeling like clawing his skin off as he squirmed restlessly and physically felt slick start to stain the seat of his jeans. As he shuffled forwards another step, he winced, feeling the sopping wet denim chafe against his thighs. Ugh. Another pair of trousers ruined by his highly inconvenient medical condition. Harry's glands were abnormal, had been since his first heat at 16. He overproduced slick. Way, way overproduced slick. Harry's body pumped out twice what a normal omega did, and he spent 90% of his adult life at least vaguely damp. 

Harry had learned, after teasing and bullying and alphas who pretended to be disgusted before begging to taste it, to embrace it. So his genes were too good. He could live with that. He was too much of an omega. Harry no longer cared what society deemed normal; he stopped the medication which helped stopper him up over 2 years ago now, tired of being sore, achy, temperamental and cranky from the side effects of repressing part of who he was. He just lived with it now. So he got really wet, really easily. His future mate wouldn't mind it, he knew. He would never bond with somebody who couldn't handle him and all of his quirks.

Harry startled out of his reverie after the cashier called for who was next, stepping up with an embarrassing squelch from his thighs rubbing together. Whoopsie. “Hello, how are you?” Harry babbled, blushing. She smiled back kindly; oh thank god, the check-out girl was a beta and couldn't smell just how ripe with pheromones his body was.

“Good! What can I get for you?” she hummed, and Harry blanked hardcore.

“Shit. Uh. Uhm. A double scoop of honeycomb with sprinkles please,” Harry blurted out, as another gush of slick escaped him. Fuck. 

“That's £3,” she rang him up, and Harry handed over a note while mumbling to keep the change, aware that there was at least one pair of alpha eyes staring his wet bum down. He cleared his throat and shuffled sideways, waiting (im)patiently for his cone as he deliberately kept his eyes fixed on the sign above, 35 flavors!, murmuring them to himself soothingly as a way to distract his mind from the fact there was a slow but sure dribble of slick creeping down his pant leg.

Harry recognized, a bit petulantly, he may have cut this trip a little bit (a lot) too close to his heat. He was starting to genuinely, truthfully worry that the cashier girl might need to get a mop by the time he left, and holy fucking hell if that wasn't embarrassing. Maybe he could buy a wet floor sign…? Har, har, har.

Suddenly, there was a hand on his arse, squeezing. Harry snapped immediately, turning around with his metaphorical(perhaps physical as well) hackles up and a gentle growl building in his throat. “Hands off, that's for my alpha,” he huffed, wrenching himself out of the very rude man’s grasp. “Go away,” Harry scoffed, eyeing the alpha angrily. “You don't even smell good.” Harry crossed his arms over his chest and flicked his hair back, staring the affronted man down until he sulkily backed away.

“Well, you smell like you're begging for somebody to knot you right on one of these tables,” rumbled the alpha, and Harry shook his head, cheeks hot. He knew he smelled alluring right now, a mix of sweet and salty, deliberately trying to catch alpha attention with the right, subtle combination of hormones, but that was his body, not his mind. “Really, you're dribbling like you've already started your heat. Just come home with me, sweetheart,” coaxed the man, softening his tone. Harry stood firm, once again showing his teeth with a little sneer.

“I have a date with somebody else,” Harry replied slowly, self conscious of the way his jeans were only getting wetter. The alpha didn't have to know that his date was his favorite dildo, Alfie, thank you very much. “And you don't smell good to me, so you've not even passed the first test,” Harry answered grumpily. Yes, all potential alphas, at least for him, had to go through several hoops and so far he hadn't had anybody besides Liam, who he wanted to bond with about as much as he wanted a stomach virus, pass the entire gauntlet.

“Well fuck you, arseleaker,” sniffed the alpha as he finally seemed to get that Harry wasn't fucking interested. Harry let the rather offensive insult roll off of him like water off a duck’s back. It was crude but true; his bum was currently dripping like a faucet left on.

“Honeycomb double scoop?” rattled off the omega on ice cream duty, giving Harry a reproachful sniff and shaking his head disdainfully. Harry bristled and snatched the cone up with a glare aimed at the judgmental prick. He just wanted a stupid ice cream before his heat, damn it. Harry grumpily licked at his cone, turning away and heading out, huffily lapping at his treat. He wasn't paying very much attention, distracted by his thighs rubbing together in a slightly painful way as well as the soft squelch he was making as he walked-- right into somebody just as he was about to leave the shop.

“Fuck!” Harry yelped, saving his cone by some miracle. “Sorry, sorry,” he apologized to the big, burly alpha who was staring at him with blown eyes. “I need to go,” he murmured, giggling sweetly as he slipped past the stunned man and shook his bum for good measure. Stares, Harry didn't mind so much. No touching, never without permission, but fuck if he didn't enjoy being admired. It made his omega preen and want to show off, wiggle his hips a little more. He blushed and blew a kiss back at the stunned alpha, winking and giggling as he hurried to his car. 

Harry finished half of his cone on the drive home, tossing the rest out the window with a rueful sigh as his body made the switch from hungry for food to starving for sex. His breathing grew labored, almost panting, his body temperature ratcheted up at least 2 degrees if not more; his poor bum was sitting in a puddle of slick that had pooled on the leather seats, and he was sweating buckets. Harry recognized, distantly, he really had planned his outing at a poor time. He'd never cut it quite this close before, and he was starting to feel a slight haze of panic. It was almost getting dangerous to drive.

Harry parked very clumsily by his little one bedroom flat, sitting for a moment and staring at his hands, white knuckled, where they squeezed and then relaxed on the steering wheel as he rode through a wave of burning fire through his belly. A pained whimper escaped him, and he stiffly opened the door and stumbled from the car, nearly face planting on the curb. Harry barely remembered to grab his bag and double check that he actually locked his car as he clumsily took the stairs to his flat two at a time, nervous as a few passerby kept a close eye on him, obviously alphas who could smell how fucking ripe he was.

Harry breathlessly opened the door after accidentally missing the key slot 3 times, shutting it immediately behind him and making a beeline for his bedroom whilst already stripping off clothes. He got his boots and socks off first, peeled off his wet jeans and briefs in the hall,and left his shirt in a crumpled heap at the loo. He relaxed as soon as he closed the bedroom door, peering into his dim den with satisfaction. He'd already set up a stock supply of bottled water, crackers, soup, lunch meat, several cheeses, carrots, beef jerky, hummus dip and pita bread for his time here, so thankful he'd bought the mini fridge just for these occasions. It was hot pink and shiny and he’d named it Loretta just because it made him laugh.

Harry's hole clenched up and twitched, dribbling a fresh wave of slick that slid wetly down the backs of his thighs to pool on the floor. Harry was absurdly grateful he'd also put his heat sheets on earlier, plastic with his usual absorbent, special mattress pad underneath designed to take in liquid. It had already saved his mattress every night. He took a deep breath and turned to his wall of toys. 

Harry's bedroom was very eccentric, very him. He had a canopy bed with pretty, gauzy curtains, with a matching dresser in the same shade of eggshell, a plush, white carpet, wallpaper a soft, blush pink, fairy lights dangling across the ceiling, a gigantic mirror, a walk-in closet, his door that led to his master bathroom-- and his sex toy collection mounted across from his mattress, taking up nearly the entire south wall. Harry had a very fierce, deep love for his toys.

He had butt plugs, anal beads, dildos, vibrators, fetish and bondage gear, nipple clamps, several different kinds of lube, everything arranged by the colors of the rainbow. His pink section was the biggest, no lie. And his favorite lube by far was the glittery Unicorn Spit. Harry pawed past a pair of red anal beads in the shape of hearts as well as a bullet with a rose bejeweled on it, grabbing his piece dé resistance: Alfie the Alpha.

Harry remembered shopping for the ridiculously big fake cock he was holding in his hands very fondly. It was about seven months ago almost to the day, just before a heat, having gotten a tip from a friend’s friend that getting a quality dildo with a knot did wonders for satisfying the itch beneath the skin during heat for a real one. He'd, with great trepidation and armed with a glass of red wine, settled down on his couch in big, fuzzy socks, his favorite pair of cotton panties, and a maroon sweater that half swallowed him, tying his hair up in a bun absent-mindedly while pulling on his glasses. Harry had grabbed his laptop and searched up bad dragon on Google, pulling up the first link and immediately blushing at the exotic dicks that filled his screen.

He'd settled on one with a massive shaft after a quick click through of their canine cocks, drawn to the giant knot at the base. Harry customized it, large, natural colors, hard base with a medium shaft, with a cumtube and a suction cup, and proudly added on lube designed like cum to his purchase, doling out nearly £180 in the process and not giving a single fuck.

That would come later, the fucking.

Harry traced the dildo’s length, shivering pleasantly. This would satisfy the longing in the pit of his stomach, the ache only a knot could soothe. More slick trickled down the backs of thighs, and he swallowed tightly, clambering up onto his bed and sighing as he settled on his hands and knees. He knew it would be like this for about 2 days straight, possibly 4 or 5. He'd even had a heat last a fucking week once. More hormone trouble, the doctors had said. 

Humming, Harry got the ‘cum’ ready and set up the entire thing with shaking hands, sticking the dildo onto his headboard and then positioning himself expectantly. He briefly teased himself, rubbing the thick, faux cock along his arse crack, breathing softly, shallowly as the head caught his quivering hole a few times. He swallowed tightly and slid back onto it smoothly, a soft gasp escaping him as he arched his back and slipped all the way back, until the knot was nudging at his rim. God yes.

“Fuck,” Harry ground out, beginning to desperately rock himself against the prick, whimpering and moaning as he dug at the sheets and slammed his hips back and forth. “Yes, yes, yes,” he hissed, fingers clawing at the duvet as he dribbled slick nonstop, puddling at the dips his knees made on the mattress. “God-- shit, fuck me,” Harry rasped, keening, soft noises escaping him as he fucked himself silly on the silicone cock. “So good, so good, need-- need the fucking knot,” Harry whined, suddenly spurting cum in sticky, hot strands all over his tummy and his bedspread.

He took a deep breath. Then he continued to thrust back against the mounted dick, cock not softening and already dripping pre-cum onto the mess of his climax. Harry whimpered again, high and soft, frenzied in his movements now. He reached a second orgasm soon after the first, weak gushes of cum splattering onto the wet mess he'd already made. Harry whined, long and low, then arched his spine fluidly, getting his bum up higher in the air like he was presenting. “God,” he rasped, too hazy and turned on to be embarrassed. There was still a fire burning in his stomach, coiled up tight, hot, so hot it blazed through him, a desperate need for a knot.

Harry cried out as he pushed back against the gigantic bulge at the base of his favorite dildo, mewling weakly as his body slowly was forced open, contracting almost painfully around the widest part as he slowly slid onto it with an audible wet noise. He was in tears by the time he was fully seated on the knot, sniffling and slowly jolting his hips in miniscule movements. His hole clenched and spasmed, clinging tightly, and Harry fumbled for the stupid syringe, injecting the special lube deep into his bum, warm and sticky, and even scented like an Alpha-- honestly, bless sex toy companies. 

Harry came for the last time with a wavering cry, practically wailing before he slumped down onto the bed, smearing his mess all over his chest and grunting as he hung limply off the dildo, still impaled by the knot. After a few moments, he gingerly pulled away with a filthy pop, fresh slick immediately sliding down his legs and some of the thick lube pooling at his balls from where it oozed out of his puffy hole. Harry immediately collapsed belly first on the bed with a wavering sigh. The fire in his stomach was momentarily dampened, his head clear, eyes tired and hazy. Harry was ready to nap until the next wave hit. Smiling, he reached up and gently, affectionately patted his dildo.

“Alfie, you make these fucking heats bearable, and for that, I thank you,” Harry sighed blissfully, clearly appreciative. “Best investment I've ever made, honestly. Otherwise I might've had to settle for an alpha who doesn't deserve my fabulous self and who isn't ready for this jelly,” he giggled, squashing his cheek into the closest pillow and yawning. He was out like a light in about 65 seconds. 

~~~  
Harry woke up about an hour later, immediately snatching Alfie off the wall, injecting more lube, and settling it on his mattress, holding the base very still. He fucked himself on it until he reached 2 more orgasms, then switched to his favorite vibe (the big, glittery, bubblegum pink one), and let that give him a very good time for a few hours.

~~~

“‘M fuckin’ starving,” Harry rasped out exhaustedly, sticky, wet, and majorly sore after the third morning. He blinked over at his alarm clock and huffed; it was just past 10. There were sex toys littered all over his room, handcuffs strapped to his headboard, a now-empty bottle of lube left dripping liquid onto his nightstand, and a heart-shaped paddle lodged in the crack between his mattress and the headboard. Huh. Harry rolled over to give his bum a look-- yep, there was a bruise in the exact same print on his right arse cheek. He giggled and shook his head, grimacing as his curls, tacky with fluids, smacked into his face. Clean-up time.

Harry had a luxurious bath for over an hour, with a Lush bath bomb, bubbles, and a cuppa of green tea, snuggled up in the tub with his glasses while reading off his tablet and listening to Louis Tomlinson’s last album, Infinity Knot. Harry was honestly unsure if it was an alpha pun or about the artist’s wrist tattoo, but either worked for him. He hummed along to a few songs, idly picturing the singer nude in an appreciative and vague sort of way.

Louis had been a crush of his since he was a young teenager furiously fingering himself to posters and taking the stupid quizzes about where you'd end up on a date. Harry sighed briefly before returning his attention to his book. After a bit, he pulled the stopper and had a nice rinse off whilst properly scrubbing his body and curls clean and fragrant. Sighing once more as he swept out of the loo in a billowing cloud of steam, he stripped his sheets and blankets and even the crusty pillowcases, tossing them in the wash, before remaking his bed. 

It was a bit after 1 pm by then, and Harry was still fucking starving. He ordered a pizza and then pulled on a pair of loose, cotton cheekies, the ones that proudly proclaimed Juicy on the arse with a cartoon cherry. Yawning again, he flopped onto his couch and pulled on a big, comfy jumper to snuggle into against the chill of exhaustion his receding heat had deigned to bless him with. His temperature was a degree or so below normal, his hands were cold, and he was lethargic, to say the least. Sometimes he came out of heats glowing, refreshed and rejuvenated. Lately, it had been happening less and less.

Harry absolutely hated to admit it, but he was starting to think he might need an alpha soon. He was 23, now, see, and whilst that wasn't old or anything, his body was getting rather impatient with faux knots and fake cum. It wanted the real deal. Harry felt the craving even now, partially satiated and slumbering for the moment, but the urge was there, an itch he couldn't scratch. Find an alpha, mate, bond, get bred, have children. A biological countdown that, honestly, he had no desire to try to fight. That plan sounded pretty damn stellar to him.

It was just the whole “find the right alpha” bit. Harry was always polite, accepted compliments, thanked those who showed interest-- but. Well. He had high standards. They had to smell good first, that was the test that most of the alphas he'd ever met failed. They had to connect on a biological level; if the scent wasn't right, his body was not interested, no matter how much his brain might scream at him to be. Secondly, they had to be nice. Harry watched how they treated waitstaff and children. Quite a few alphas failed that, too. Harry would only bond with a nice, genuine alpha. The third test was if they were financially stable enough to support him whilst he was giving up his time and body for babies; he would never rule anybody out for not being rich, not ever, because love was love, but Harry wouldn't lie, he absolutely got a bigger boner for the very well-off ones. 

So, once he'd narrowed it down from, hypothetically, 100 to 5, came his most important test: the dick one. Harry would freely, 1,000% admit it; he was a massive, total, ridiculous size queen. And so far, nobody had met his standards. He'd seen some nice cocks, alright? He had. But he wanted a wow factor. If it was going to be the dick he was going to give his arse virginity to and ride the rest of his life, it had to be worthy. 

Liam, startlingly enough, had such a dick. Unfortunately, Liam was Liam, and Harry was not attracted to him nearly enough on a pheromone level to be a compatible mate. Would he blow Liam? Maybe let the Alpha rim him a bit? Yes… but they would never work out as a bonded pair. Besides, Liam could be a gigantic stick in the mud about all of this stuff.

For his birthday last year, he'd given Liam a bottle of his slick after the Alpha rejected his offer of a blowie. Cheekily, Harry had straight up shoved the still dripping container into his hand before leaving the party, with a little note reading: All the wanking, H .xx. Because he was a menace like that. Harry had never gotten the courage to ask if Liam had used it, but the “coincidental” rut that happened immediately after Liam’s 23rd was slightly too hard to believe.

Basically, Harry knew it; he was pickier than holy hell, and quite a few friends had given him shit about it, but he refused to lower his standards. He firmly, wholeheartedly believed there was somebody perfect out there for him. Soulmates existed, and they were the best bonds in the known universe. He refused to settle for anything less than perfection. 

Even if it meant having to wait a little longer.

Harry was wrenched from his slightly morose thoughts by a knock at his door, brightening immediately as he caught the delicious scent of greasy cheese and yeast. Pizza. Harry hopped up and scrambled for his wallet, pulling out a few notes and opening the door with a grateful smile. 

“Thank youuuu! Keep the change,” he requested, taking the box from the slightly star-- maybe dumb, honestly-- struck teenager, a little 17-year-old alpha with spots and big eyes that roamed Harry's form. “Have a nice day,” he snorted with a faint eye roll, closing the door gently but firmly on the gaping boy. Baby alphas were the worst to deal with, nothing but humping, hormone-addled idiots. Harry was ready for a real man, or some other cliché, thank you. 

Somewhat ruefully, Harry acknowledged that eating pizza at home on a Saturday afternoon, watching The Notebook for the 60th time, and crying into his own sleeves was probably not a great way to meet the love of his life. He demolished the entire pizza, trying to recuperate from the toll his heat took on him. Snacks during were helpful and necessary, but the calories and energy were burned off much faster than him remembering to eat. In a slight food coma, Harry stretched out on the couch and yawned, ready for a nap. He vowed to genuinely start looking for a mate, too… just. Tomorrow. For sure. 

~~~


End file.
